


In the Very Nick of Time

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:57:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Art in distress again.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Very Nick of Time

Ducking his head as another musket ball whizzed past, d’Artagnan glared over at Porthos. His older brother hovered near d’Artagnan’s left side. He hated it, but d’Artagnan knew Porthos was loath to leave him. “We can’t hold this position for very long, Porthos, you and I both know that!” he yelled over the noise of the gunfire.

“They’ll be here!” Porthos growled roughly. “I saw them get away. We’re not far from the garrison,” he shouted. “Athos and Aramis will be back with reinforcements before you know it, lad!”

Not responding to the man's words, d’Artagnan remembered the look on Athos’s face when his mentor, along with Aramis, got separated from them. There was no way his friends could make their way back to them without being cut down from the enemy. 

Fabrice Prideux’s band of cutthroats proved harder to take down than they thought. Captain Treville had originally sent two patrols to seek these bandits out. Athos gave the order for the patrols to split up, which in hindsight turned out to be a poor tactical decision, for their other brothers never returned. D’Artagnan prayed they were just wounded and not dead.

“Ya know he didn’t want ta leave ya, whelp,” Porthos understood why d’Artagnan was being so quiet. When they got split up even he could see the indecision on Athos’s face when the man signaled to Porthos that he and Aramis had to leave them. It looked like it was tearing his friend apart at the seams.

“Athos didn’t want to leave either one of us behind,” d’Artagnan snapped as he picked off another one of the bandits with his harquebus and yet another with his musket.

“Ya think we could possibly dispose of this riffraff before they come back with reinforcements, bucko?”

Throwing himself down on the ground next to Porthos, d’Artagnan re-loaded his musket. “Are you quite certain you’re not suffering an injury to your head?” he snorted.

Frowning at the youngster, Porthos muttered under his breath that no one appreciated his humor. Feeling d’Artagnan clap him on the shoulder, Porthos turned his head and noticed the whelp grinning back at him.

“Do you feel we could make a run for our horses without becoming Swiss cheese?” D’Artagnan was tired of waiting and spotted Zad and Roulette not far from their position. Despite the heavy fighting their horses were trained for battle and had not bolted during the fray.

“I’m willin’ if you are.” Porthos realized that help may not arrive in a timely fashion for him or the boy as he had first thought. Knowing how d’Artagnan’s mind worked he knew the boy felt the same.

Both men ran like their lives depended upon it, which it did. They actually managed to get to their horses without getting shot to pieces. But that’s when things went awry.

Musket fire brushed close to Zad’s side causing the horse to rear up and unseating d’Artagnan, much to Porthos’s horror. “D’ARTAGNAN!” he screamed.

“GET OUT OF HERE!” d’Artagnan shouted from his position on the ground, still dazed from the fall.

“NOT ON YOUR LIFE!” Porthos hollered back gruffly. 

Shakily standing back up, d’Artagnan’s face lost some of its color as he saw riders approaching them. Fabrice Prideux was in the lead grinning at them like a cat who finally caught his canaries.

“You must be the petite runt of the Musketeer litter,” Prideux remarked snidely and spit on the ground next to the boy’s feet. Dismounting, he walked up to the young man. “Be so kind as to drop your weapons.” Prideux nodded to the musket still gripped in the boy's hand. Gazing over at the dark-skinned Musketeer, he sneered. “You as well.”

It took three of Prideux’s men to wrestle the larger man off his horse and disarm him but they got the job done. They prodded both Musketeers in the back as they marched them back to Prideux’s camp.

From Porthos’s position he kept his eye on Prideux. He had a gut feeling about this one and wasn’t pleased at the way the leader kept watching d’Artagnan. It seemed to him as if Prideux’s eyes were devouring the boy. “D’Artagnan,” he whispered as they walked side by side, “do whatever ya can to survive.” A sideways glance at the whelp told Porthos that his friend didn’t have a clue to his meaning.

“Take this one,” Prideux ordered his men indicating Porthos, “over to our wagon and tie him up so he can’t cause any trouble.”

“And me?” d’Artagnan spoke up, staring boldly into Prideux’s obsidian colored eyes.

“Brave lad are ye?” Prideux cackled, making the other bandits laugh along with him. He wasn’t a vain man but knew from past encounters with the ladies and men of his acquaintance that he was considered quite a catch. Grabbing the boy’s arm, Prideux all but dragged d’Artagnan inside his tent.

“My brothers will be here soon,” d’Artagnan’s chin jutted out in stubbornness, making Prideux aware of his Gascon heritage. He couldn’t make a move against the outlaw covered as he was by two other bandits that held pistols on him.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Prideux sneered as he shoved the young man down on the cot. “Don’t get any bright ideas of escaping. I have men stationed right outside my tent.” Prideux threw off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. He knew the boy was puzzled as to why he and his men weren’t in any hurry to escape. “To satisfy all that curiosity I can see in your lovely brown eyes,” Prideux chuckled at the look of uncertainty that crossed the young man's face, “I do have a reputation to uphold." He looked away from that handsome face briefly as he finished with the last button on his shirt. “The Musketeers are in for some unpleasant surprises when they try to take this camp.”

He wasn’t afraid of Prideux until the man told him he had *lovely eyes*. Now Porthos’s words made more sense to him. D’Artagnan vowed the man would have a fight on his hands if he did try anything untoward. Though this wasn’t something they covered in the Musketeer handbook.

Removing his shirt, Prideux rummaged through a chest that was on the floor. When he turned back toward the youth he smiled. “Lay down.”

“Like hell I will!” d’Artagnan snarled and then he saw stars as Prideux backhanded him across the face, knocking d’Artagnan sideways so that he collapsed onto the cot. Suddenly he was being held down by the two men guarding him while Prideux fastened straps to the sides of the cot, then fitted them over his wrists.

With a nod to his men, Prideux waited until they left him alone with the boy. “I really hated to do that,” he purred softly as his right hand gripped his captive’s chin. “Such a pretty face shouldn’t be marred by a hand print,” he sighed dramatically. “I hope later there won’t be too many bruises.”

“Then don’t continue with this!” d’Artagnan spat in disgust, as he struggled against his tight bonds.

“What are you called, boy?”

Tightening his lips, d’Artagnan wasn’t going to give Prideux the satisfaction of a reply.

“Stubborn child I see,” Prideux then proceeded to remove the youngster’s doublet along with his shirt, leaving the boy’s chest bare to his appreciative eyes. Running his hands up and down the smooth torso, Prideux hummed to himself in pleasure. “Perhaps I’ll take you with me when we break camp.”

“Perhaps I’ll kill you first!” d’Artagnan hissed, earning himself another hard slap.

“Now see what you made me do?” Prideux chided. Then the sounds of gunfire interrupted his musings but knowing what the Musketeers would be dealing with, Prideux had no worries.

++++

Rubbing his wrists nearly raw against his restraints, Porthos’s eyes never left the tent d’Artagnan disappeared into. Worry gnawed at his stomach for their young one, but sounds of battle momentarily distracted him. Praying his brothers wouldn’t be too late, Porthos kept trying to work himself free.

++++

*Nearly forty minutes later*

Seeing Aramis running over to his side, Porthos yelled at him. “About time! What took ya so long?”

Smiling at his impatient friend, Aramis neatly sliced through Porthos’s bonds with his poignard. “I must say Prideux’s imaginative.”

Rubbing at his sore wrists, Porthos winced. “What cha’ mean?”

“When we arrived our men were greeted to a various array of inventive booby traps which were between us and you, mon ami.” Realizing that d’Artagnan wasn’t with Porthos, Aramis looked around the area. “Where’s our youngest?”

“In that tent,” Porthos barked. “And don't ya go on shootin' the leader because Prideux’s mine!” he shouted.

Exchanging concerned looks with Athos who had joined them, Aramis wondered at Porthos’s anger.

“What has happened to d’Artagnan?” Athos rasped, knowing it was must be something dreadful judging by Porthos’s reaction.

“Ah! So that is your name,” came Prideux's voice.

All three Musketeers whirled around to stare in astonishment at Prideux, seated on a huge black beast of a horse. What scared the inseparables was the cutthroat's passenger. For there hanging over Prideux's arms was a semi-aware d’Artagnan.

“Let… him… go!” Athos dragged out slowly, aiming his pistol directly at Prideux.

“If you’re trying to frighten me I have to say you’re failing dismally,” Prideux clucked.

“We’ve taken or killed most of your men,” Aramis pointed out. “Release d’Artagnan this instant or my friend will gladly blow your brains out.”

Pondering the limp boy in his arms, Prideux sighed. “Quel dommage, d’Artagnan, we could have had such a delightful interlude you and I.” Looking down at the three Musketeers he grimaced. “I miscalculated that my men would win,” Prideux shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He valued his life and knew when the chips were stacked against him. “You may take the youngster.”

They could tell that their pup appeared to be dazed, which worried the inseparables on multiple levels.

Porthos was the first to approach Prideux, reaching out for the boy and gently getting d’Artagnan down from the monster of a horse. Then he deposited the lad in Aramis’s waiting arms while he dragged Prideux from his mount and began to beat the man senseless.

Both Aramis and Athos knew something terrible had happened that they weren’t aware of as yet. But right now they were supporting d’Artagnan between them and were more concerned for their young one's welfare than Prideux’s. 

“Should we let Porthos continue?” Aramis was fascinated at the ferocity his large friend displayed, though he shouldn't have been surprised at it.

Face turning grimmer, if that were possible, Athos got a really good look at d’Artagnan. He could tell that the boy had taken a few hits to the face but wondered why the child seemed in such a stupor. “Porthos, if you’re going to kill Prideux, please hurry it along so we can tend to d’Artagnan.”

“I ain’t gonna kill him,” Porthos grunted. “He’s gonna hang for his crimes.” Wiping his hands on his pants, Portho turned away from the scum laying bloody on the ground. When he faced his friends, Porthos walked straight over to d’Artagnan to lift him carefully in his arms.

“Porthos!” Athos growled, laying a hand on the man’s large bicep. “What the hell happened to d’Artagnan?”

Sorrowful brown eyes turned on Athos then. “I’m not rightly sure but I can guess.” He took the boy back over to the wagon Porthos had originally been tied too. “Let’s get our boyo back home.”

Not wanting to leave them but needing to round up their own men, Aramis could see his friends had everything well in hand. But his own worry grew at what had taken place in that tent.

Nodding to Aramis, Athos helped Porthos get d’Artagnan into the back of the wagon and joined him there. His eyes never strayed from his protégé once he sat down beside him. When he reached out to d’Artagnan, the boy flinched from his touch. Sitting back, Athos’s lips tightened. “D’Artagnan,” he said with a calm he wasn’t feeling, “are you with me, son?”

“Mmmmm,” d’Artagnan slowly came back to awareness as he finally realized where he was and who he was with. “Athos... Porthos?”

“We’re here, lad,” Porthos gruffly told him, wanting to reassure the boy that he wasn’t alone and never would be.

“What did Prideux do to you?” Athos held d’Artagnan's right hand tightly, anchoring the boy to him.

“Had me shackled... to the cot and... undressed me,” d’Artagnan closed his eyes, remembering how defiled he felt under Prideux’s hands. “He... he...,” d’Artagnan’s eyes filled with tears, “kept touching me all over... kissed me all over... my body.” He turned his face away from Athos in shame, who in turn gently placed his palm against d’Artagnan’s cheek turning his face back toward him. “He had no right to do that to me,” d’Artagnan’s lips trembled.

Hanging his head down, Athos own eyes watered as he realized the pain and humiliation d’Artagnan had suffered. “How far did he get before we arrived?”

“Nearly all the way,” d’Artagnan spoke softly, his voice trailing away. “But you... managed to... arrive in the nick of time.” Hearing Porthos snort beside him brought a small smile to d’Artagnan’s face. “What?”

“Ya would make a pretty damsel in distress, lad,” Porthos chuckled, trying to keep things light, if only for d’Artagnan’s sake. He knew there would be nightmares over this for the child and he vowed to be there for him.

“We could order a dress in your size when we get back,” Athos added and was glad he joined Porthos in teasing d’Artagnan as he heard the pup’s quiet chuckles. He knew the boy was strong and could survive nearly anything life could throw at him; but Athos wanted d'Artagnan to know he would always be there for him through thick and thin and would never have to suffer alone.

As Aramis came riding back, he kept pace beside the wagon. Noticing the smiles gracing his friend’s faces Aramis knew something was up. “What did I miss?”

“We’re buyin’ our puppy a dress when we get back ta Paris,” Porthos winked at Athos.

Aramis looked at Porthos like he was certifiable, while Athos’s shoulders began to shake with silent laughter. All the while d’Artagnan wore an expression Aramis couldn’t read as yet. Not sure what had taken place while he was helping the other men, he played along. “I’m sure Madame Bonacieux could design one for our youngest without much persuasion. Hearing d’Artagnan groan and try to hide his face in Athos’s shoulder, Aramis couldn’t wait to hear the whole story when they got back to the garrison.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The silliness at the end was brought about from several (actually a lot) of stories I see here on Archive where for some reason writers love to put the boys in dresses (especially Aramis and d'Art). I couldn't resist (grins).


End file.
